


Get Down, Make Love

by ahopper84



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Flirting, Foreplay, Fucking, Groupies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 19:32:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahopper84/pseuds/ahopper84
Summary: You lucky girl... Title sucks. No particular era in mind, feel free to picture this whenever you like (also could easily be either Roger or Ben!Roger, your pick). Requested by Queenrogertaylorfan on tumblr... you're welcome!





	Get Down, Make Love

You still can’t believe you’re here. It took an entire month’s savings to buy the front-row tickets, and you wracked up an impressive phone bill calling the radio station to win the backstage pass, but it was worth it. The show was even more amazing than you imagined it would, and now you were here, waiting in the hall with a few other fans to be let into the greenroom. You haven’t talked to the others - all girls, of course - but hopefully no one beats you to your favorite. It’s already a dream come true just being here, but you hope… you dare to hope that _he_ will notice you, will give you his attention.

Minutes tick by, muffled sounds of speech and laughter coming from behind the closed door. Finally, after what feels like forever, a security guard steps out and beckons you all to follow. You’re at the back of the line, and wring your fingers with nerves. You’re practically hyperventilating as you enter the room, and there they are - Queen. They’re sitting lounging on various couches and chairs, all grinning and waving in the crowd. Your eyes immediately seek out your favorite, and are shocked to see his blue eyes have found you as well.

“Well hello there lovely,” he says, and your knees threaten to buckle. He pats the empty seat next to you and you somehow manage to make your way over without stumbling. He drapes an arm over the back of the couch; your eyes trail down his bare chest where his vest hangs open, before you catch yourself and meet his eyes again.

“What’s your name, love?” You tell him, and he grins, “That’s a beautiful name. So tell me, did you enjoy the show?”

You tell him all about it, about which songs are your favorites, and which ones you wish they’d played, and how much you loved his solos. You can hear yourself rambling, but you can’t seem to stop. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, just smiling at you like your excitement is the most flattering thing he’s ever heard. Slowly, you realize that he’s looking you up and down, and you feel yourself blush.

“It’s a bit loud in here, innit?” He says, leaning closer to whisper in your ear. “You wanna go someplace a little more quiet? Where we can… talk?” The arch in his eyebrow, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lip, and the hand he lets just barely brush against your thigh, tell you he’s got something on his mind beyond talking, and you nod eagerly. He stands up and offers you a hand which he takes.

“Right, I think we’re off to go grab a drink,” he announces to the group. You don’t dare look up to see everyone’s reactions. Roger puts an arm around your waist and leads you out a side door, out to a waiting taxi; he opens the door for you and then slides in next to you. He rattles an address off to the driver… his hotel, you’re assuming. He puts his arm around you, but does nothing more. The anticipation is killing you, and him too you’d wager, based off the hungry look in his eyes.

The trip goes by in a blur and before you know it, the door to the hotel suite is clicking shut behind you.

“Fancy a drink, love?” He reaches into the mini-bar fridge and pulls out a beer for each of you when you nod; he pops the caps off on the countertop and hands you one. “Make yourself comfortable.”

You take a seat on the couch and watch him as he fiddles with the stereo, putting on a record; it’s something old, slow and sensual. He turns to you and sips his beer and you shiver.

“Tell me about yourself,” he asks, sitting next to you; he’s so close your legs are touching, and it takes you a moment to remember your name, let alone any details of your life. But you manage to speak, and while his attention is divided, he seems to be at least partially listening. When your beers are empty he takes your bottle and sets them both aside. You’re quivering with anticipation now, dying for him to kiss you, touch you, anything. And when he turns to face you again, somehow you just know your wait is over.

He begins surprisingly gently, caressing your cheek. You lean into his touch, sighing as he tangles his fingers in your hair. You lean forward, putting a hand out to steady yourself; it lands on his knee and he covers it with his own, pressing your touch more firmly. Your eyes meet his, and the raw desire you see in them makes you gasp.

He takes that instant of opportunity and catches your open mouth in a kiss that’s just this side of forceful. You reach your other hand up and do what you’ve dreamed of, burying your fingers in his golden tresses; they’re softer than you expected, silky and cool, and you whimper and melt against him. He smiles against your lips and leans you back against the couch. One hand is in your hair, the other is on your waist, sliding down your hip, around to gently squeeze your ass. You moan and arch your back, and he settles between your legs, prompting you to moan again.

He pulls back to smile down at you, and you swear you could fall apart right then and there if he would keep eyeing you like that. But he ducks his head and presses his lips to your neck, tongue and teeth scraping against your flesh; when he nibbles your earlobe you gasp, one leg lifting in a reflex. He catches it behind your knee and wraps it around his waist, rocking his hips against yours.

“Roger!” you cry out, throwing your head back. He’s hard as stone, pressed against you. He lifts your skirt out of the way, one less layer of fabric between you. He kisses you again, his hands roaming, pulling your top up; you sit up just long enough for him to toss the piece of clothing aside, shedding his vest with it. He looks down at you like you’re a work of art, and you feel yourself blush all the way down. He smirks at you, his fingers delicately tracing your straps, pulling them off your shoulders. 

You kiss again, feeling him lift you up and unhooking the clasp of your bra with nimble fingers. A moment later he’s pulling it off you completely; the cool air hits your skin and you feel your nipples perk up instantly. You barely have time to process that when suddenly his mouth is on one, hot and wet, and you let out a strangled cry.

Meanwhile, those fingers of his are tugging at your skirt and your panties. You let him finish stripping you; you would let him do anything at this point, if only he keeps making you feel this good. His mouth moves to the side, giving your other breast equal treatment. You worry that you’re making him do all the work, but the ravenous gleam in his eye tells you he isn’t complaining. 

He pulls back and stands up, and for half a moment you think to protest, until you realize it’s only to drop his own trousers. With nothing beneath, you’re suddenly faced with a very naked Roger in all his magnificent glory. He wraps a hand around himself and gives a lazy stroke, but then kneels on the couch between your legs, much, much lower than he was before. You open your mouth to speak but any words you might’ve had are forgotten the instant he lowers his head.

“Roger!” You shout, your hands pulled to his hair like a magnet as his tongue makes contact with your core. You can’t speak, can’t think, can barely breathe as he devours you like a starving man. He lifts your legs to rest on his shoulders, and you can feel your muscles twitching and spasming with every electric sensation he causes. He reaches out to tweak your nips, adding another layer of pleasure, and it’s almost more than you can take. When he looks up and meets your eyes, you lose it completely, moaning loudly as your climax washes over you; he moans against you as he laps up every drop, the vibrations intensifying the moment.

You may have blacked out for a moment, you’re not sure. The next thing you know is his mouth is on yours, your tongues mingling. You can taste yourself on him, and something about that turns you on even more. You can feel him fumbling with something, and hear a noise like ripping paper. Your legs are still on his shoulders, you realize, as he sits up, preparing himself. 

“Ready, love?” he asks with that devilish smirk, and it’s all you can do not to fall to pieces again just from that. You nod and he grabs your hips, pressing against you, just teasing at first. You take a breath, and that’s when he thrusts his hips forward, driving into you to the hilt. Your eyes are painfully wide, your mouth hanging open as he holds still, letting you adjust. His hair hangs around his shoulders, his chest is shiny with sweat, and he looks to you like a Greek god.

It doesn’t take long for you both to get your bearings, and then he’s fucking you properly. This isn’t making love, or being intimate, or any other sweet turns of phrase; this is fucking, wild and primal, and you can’t get enough. The two of you moan shamelessly, your voices harmonizing. His hands run up and down your legs. He kisses your ankle, the flat of his tongue washing over your skin. Your legs would be shaking if he wasn’t holding onto them so tight. You pull him down into a kiss, and the change in angle sparks a fresh wave of pleasure.

He thrusts harder, deeper, faster, and you don’t know how much more you can stand, but at the same time you never want it to end. But you know it will, sooner rather than later if his erratic movements are any indication. His eyes are open on yours as you share each other’s breath, your moans long since devolved into animalistic panting. He grips your hair in one hand and your ass in the other, twists his hips _just so_ , and you’re done for. 

Your entire upper half arches off the couch and he holds you in place; you can feel him throbbing inside you as he reaches his climax as well. Every part of your body trembles, and you’re almost certain you feel him shaking, too. Slowly he lowers you back to the couch, gingerly backing off and disappearing just long enough to dispose of the necessary. He’s back a moment later; you gasp and laugh as he lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom.

He lowers you to the bed with a tender kiss, and curls up behind you, pulling the blankets up over you both. You want to say something, you’re not sure what, but exhaustion is pulling you under fast. Just before darkness settles in, you feel him press a feather-soft kiss to your temple.

“Sweet dreams, love,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight. And it has been the sweetest dream ever, all the sweeter because it hasn’t been a dream at all. But even if it was, you know you would never, ever want to wake up.


End file.
